


First Wives Club

by Stormheller



Category: The Sentinel, due South
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormheller/pseuds/Stormheller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolyn Plummer and Stella Kowalski discover they have a lot in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Wives Club

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2001. F/K and J/B are references only.   
> Winner Serge Award, best crossover story of the year  
> Serious Duck Award 2003, best crossover story
> 
> IF YOU LIKED THIS STORY... please check out my pro writing.   
> My gay stories here: http://www.stormgrant.com/  
> My urban fantasy here: http://ginaxgrant.wordpress.com/the-relucant-reaper-series/  
> Thank you,  
> ~ Gina / Stormy / Stormheller

"Would you like a table, Ma'am?"

Carolyn Plummer spared the maitre d' scarcely a glance as she headed toward the bar. "No, thanks," she threw back over her shoulder, belatedly remembering her manners. After all, she might want something from him later; no point pissing him off.

She moved rapidly toward the bar, where she immediately ordered a scotch rocks, annoyed that she'd had to interrupt the bartender's conversation with another woman patron to do so. A good service person would have seen her coming and been waiting for her, she thought irritably. She placed her briefcase on the floor near the first available bar stool and seated herself, yanking her short skirt down over her thighs. Despite her daily workouts, she'd always thought her legs were heavy; still, men seemed to like them. Her ex certainly had. And thinking of him got her all pissed off again.

"Fuck!" she uttered, her fist slamming down hard on the bar. The bartender had been just about to place the drink in front of her; she startled him into jumping slightly and sloshing her drink all over his hand and the countertop.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'll get you another." Spinning on his heel, he fled to the other end of the bar, busying himself with bottles and glasses.

Carolyn stared at the spilled liquor, seemingly oblivious to the amber liquid starting to run across the sloping bar toward her.

"Hey. You're going to get scotch all over your Ellen Tracy suit if you don't move."

Slowly Carolyn focused on the blonde woman seated two stools over. She watched as the woman grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and reached across to lay them on the bar between the pooling booze and Carolyn.

Carolyn stared down at the napkins dazedly.

"Are you okay?" the blonde woman was asking. Like she cared, thought Carolyn uncharitably. "Weren't you at the conference today?"

 

That snapped Carolyn out of her pity party. She could look the fool to a perfect stranger she'd never see again, but she needed to be professional with anyone who might affect her career.

"I'm sorry. I've just had some upsetting news." Carolyn gave the blonde woman a tight smile. "Thanks for asking. And yes, I'm one of the program speakers. Did you attend my session today?"

"No, actually," the woman answered, gesturing at Carolyn's chest. "You're still wearing your name tag."

Carolyn glanced down. So she was. She hurriedly unclipped it from her lapel and shoved it into her suit jacket pocket. Suspicious by nature and profession, she gave her bar-mate an appraising once-over. Cool blonde, expensive hair cut, expensive suit, mid-thirties, mid-West accent. A peer, she decided; the same description would fit Carolyn herself. She thought for a moment. No, her hair was currently dark red, and she was a just a little tiny bit older.

"And you would be?"

"Stella Kowalski. No, Stella Summerwood. Um." Carolyn raised an eyebrow. "I'm a State's Attorney. Assistant State's Attorney. Um. Chicago." She flushed a little and looked at the countertop.

The waiter had finally delivered the errant scotch, and was cleaning up the mess on the bar. Carolyn took a long sip before volunteering her vital statistics.

"Carolyn Plummer. San Francisco PD. I'm Chief of Forensics there. Ms..." Carolyn pinned her with a don't-try-and-shit-me gaze, "...Kowalski-Summerwood." She'd learned the look from her ex-husband.

Stella glanced up. The glower must have been effective, because Stella, who didn't seem to Carolyn to be an open and sharing kinda gal, became quite forthcoming. "I'm divorcing. It's Summerwood again." She smiled ruefully. "It takes a bit of getting used to."

"Tell me about it. I'm so glad I never bothered to change mine when I married. One less thing to get back in the divorce settlement." Carolyn chuckled, feeling vaguely superior to this woman who had let some man take away her name. She also felt a little sorry for her.

"Would you like another, ma'am?"

Carolyn glanced sharply at the waiter who had interrupted them. Stella nodded, and another white wine appeared before her. Conversation stuttered to a halt.

For no reason she could think of, Carolyn decided to keep talking. After all, she could do a lot worse than conversing with an ASA, even one so far from her catchment area. You just never knew. She'd been in this miserable town for three days now, and she was tired of being alone. And she certainly didn't want to be with anyone she knew from home or from Cascade, not after the news she'd had just now.

"So, Stella," she ventured, deliberately using the first name, forcing both familiarity and a smile. "How are you enjoying Vegas?"

Stella's eyes left the bar-top and met her own, almost gratefully. Carolyn knew that look--it said, "Distract me from my thoughts. Please."

"I haven't had much chance to look around. I haven't been here since before...." She cut herself off, and tried again. "Since I was single."

"Well, from what you tell me, you're single again. You should enjoy it while the State Department is picking up the tab."

"Yeah. I probably should. I...." She gave a soft little laugh. "You were upset earlier, but now you're looking out for me. I'm sorry. The divorce isn't new. The being alone certainly isn't. I'm not the sort who cries into her beer. Well, wine, actually." She downed the contents of her glass and gestured for the bartender to bring another.

"Would you ladies like to see menus?" Must be on commission, Carolyn thought. Out loud she said, "Please. And could you move our drinks over to that table?" Phrased as a question, Carolyn's words were definitely a command. She glanced at Stella, who hesitated a moment, then retrieved her briefcase and followed Carolyn a little unsteadily to the low table set in one corner of the lounge.

"Good idea," Stella offered, settling herself in an overstuffed wingback. "I haven't sat at a bar since college. I felt a bit like a hooker there." She grinned a little. The waiter arrived with their drinks, and a bowl of wonton-like snacks that seemed too close to nachos for this classy establishment. "So have you lived in San Francisco all your life, Katherine?"

"Carolyn," she corrected snappishly. "And no, I moved there from Cascade a couple of years ago." She added "Washington state," in response to Stella's quizzical look... although most of Stella's looks were starting to be a bit fuzzy. Carolyn wondered how many glasses of wine Stella'd had before she'd joined her at the bar.

"I've been to California several times, but never to San Francisco. Is it as... permissive as they say?" From the way Stella watched her, Carolyn figured there was more than idle curiosity behind the polite words. Was this woman hitting on her? She'd put a stop to that in short order, career or no career.

"If you mean openly gay, yes. Parts of it are." She was snapping again. Now Stella looked thoroughly confused. "Why do you ask?" Carolyn continued, her eyes narrowed accusingly.

Stella crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. "No reason. You sound like it bothers you. If you have a problem with homosexuality, you may wish to reconsider your current place of residence," she added loftily.

Carolyn let out a sigh. No need to offend here. "No problem with homosexuality. I'm just not gay myself, is all."

Stella pondered this a moment, then chuckled. "And you thought I was? Not hardly. One in the family's enough. Thank you very much."

"Huh?" Carolyn herself was starting to feel the two scotches she'd consumed. She managed to catch the waiter's eye, and another one was heading her way.

It was Stella's turn to sigh. She paused a moment, as if considering the wisdom of her next words, "My husband--ex-husband--he's with another man now. It sorta...." Carolyn cut her off sharply.

"Who put you up to this?" Carolyn's voice was pitched low and angry. "You just tell that cunt Cassie Wells that I don't have to take this." She gripped the arms of her chair and started to rise, then hesitated when she saw misery and the glint of tears in Stella's eyes.

"What? Who?" Stella also whispered, but plaintively. "What are you talking about?" Then a trace of anger entered her voice as well. "And how did the most earth-shattering event of my life become about you?"

Carolyn flopped back down in the seat again, her skirt hiking far up her thighs. "I thought... I just heard... A former colleague just told me... She seemed to think it was funny."

"Oh. My. God." Stella also seemed to find it a trifle amusing, despite her misery and anger a moment ago. The alcohol must be playing havoc with her emotional stability. "Not you, too?" She reached out and placed a damp hand on Carolyn's arm to restrain her as she started to rise again. "Don't go. I just think it's ironic. You gotta admit, Carolyn, it's a pretty big coincidence." Switching topics at dizzying pace, she pressed the re-seated Carolyn for details. "How'd it happen? Did he leave you for this guy?" Stella's features showed both tipsy concern and... prurient interest?

"No. Well. Not that I know of." Carolyn downed half her new drink. God, she could feel the alcohol burning through her. That must be what was causing her face and neck to feel so hot. "He met this guy not that long after the divorce. Moved him into our... his apartment just weeks after meeting him. Even got him a ride-along so he could accompany him to the station. I should have known." She gazed beseechingly at her new friend. "But sometimes, you're just blind, you know."

Stella nodded understandingly. "What happened today?"

"I ran into this woman here. I hadn't met her before, but I knew of her. After I left the Cascade PD, they downgraded my job and hired her." Carolyn drifted off topic. "I had been head of all of Police Services, while Cassie was only in charge of Forensics." Carolyn frowned irritably when Stella looked dense. It was important that people be aware of the fact that Cassie hadn't--could never--replace her. Although according to gossip, she'd certainly tried.

Her own bark of laughter surprised Carolyn into choking on her drink. Stella pounded her back until she held up a hand.

"Jeeze. A second ago you were pissed at me for laughing."

"No. No. I just remembered something. Cassie..."

"That would be 'the cunt Cassie', right?" Stella arched an eyebrow, a grin blooming on her delicate WASPy features.

"Right!" Carolyn grinned back. Carolyn thought she could get to like this girlfriend supportive thing. She hadn't ever had girlfriends much. Too competitive, even back in....

"You remembered something about Cassie?" Stella prompted, when it became apparent Carolyn had lost her train of thought.

"Right. Right. Well, I heard that Cassie had hit on both Jim and Blair when she first joined the Department. What a fuckin' joke! Unless she was into watching." Both women cackled long and loudly, a note of hysteria tingeing Carolyn's laugh.

"Jim and Blair?" Stella questioned, blurring her mascara as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Jim's my ex, and Blair, apparently, is his lover. Well, according to Cassie anyway."

Carolyn looked ruefully at her slightly intoxicated confidante, then at her once-again-empty glass. Maybe they'd better order food.

"Maybe we'd better order some food." Carolyn's head snapped up quickly at this seemingly psychic comment, then she realized she'd spoken aloud. "I'm feeling a wee bit wasted here," Stella explained.

Carolyn agreed and they signalled the waiter, ordering a couple of daily specials without really listening to his bored recitation, then Stella continued with her questions.

"So you still haven't told me what Cassie did here and now that upset you."

Carolyn thought back as best she could in her increasingly inebriated state. She had mentioned running into Cassie here in Vegas, but then got sidetracked... right, career, Jim and Blair, right. "Okay. I had finished my seminar here. I'm done for the rest of the conference now. I was standing at the elevator in the main lobby thinking I'd go get changed and maybe come down here for a drink or something, when this crowd of women... four or five, I think. Five." She was rather used to giving testimony, and so strove to be as accurate as possible. "They came up behind me, laughing and being obnoxiously loud. I think they must have been drunk," she added archly, not noticing Stella's wry grimace at Carolyn's superior attitude. Were they not both half hammered at this point? "And this garish redhead glances at my name badge. 'Oh. Carolyn Plummer. I finally get to meet you.' She shakes my hand, just assuming I know who she is. Her name badge is flipped over, so I have to ask, 'And you would be?' Well, it seemed to piss her off that I didn't immediately know who she was."

Stella smiled encouragingly, then gestured obliquely, no doubt meaning get on with the story.

"'Cassie Wells,' this bitch says, righting her name tag. I still don't make the connection right away, which seems to amuse her companions. After all, she followed me into the job and must have seen and heard my name daily, whereas I only heard about her a couple of times in passing. Anyway, she says in a really snotty voice, 'Cascade PD'. So now I get it, but by this point, she's got it in for me and turns to her friends and says, 'Hey guys. This is the ex-Mrs. Ellison. She's the one that ruined him for the rest of us,' and then she did this limp-wristed thing. I could have killed her on the spot, except I'm smart enough to know that a police services conference is not a good place to commit a murder."

"Oh, shit. Carolyn, I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Stella reached out and squeezed Carolyn's hand for a moment.

Boy, I could get used to the sympathy thing. Carolyn thought. She tended to keep her problems and pains to herself, on the presumption that most of the women in her acquaintance would move in for the kill or desert her if she revealed any weaknesses. It surprised her that this lawyer would be so compassionate; but then, Stella had chosen to work in the ASA's office, rather than the infinitely more lucrative area of private practice. Perhaps she was a bit of an idealist. Carolyn narrowed her eyes again. She didn't like weakness anymore than her peers did. Next Stella'd be insisting not all politicians were corrupt.

"Anyway. These other women must be familiar with the Cascade PD, 'cause they start making jokes about Jim and Blair and how pretty they are and how hot they look together." She looks both angry and sad. "I wish I'd had a clever comeback. I just turned and walked away. Came in here. That's when you met me."

"But what makes you think she's right?" Stella was keeping her cross-examination gentle. "Why do you believe what this woman--this woman who tried to take your job and your husband?" She tilted her head to one side and peered back at Carolyn from the corner of her eyes, incredulity clear on her face.

"Well, I... actually, given some things I know about him... and his... life experiences, I do believe her." Carolyn didn't want to divulge any of their marriage confidences, but hell, she sure as shit wasn't married to him now. "Jim has spent his entire life in homo-social environments." Carolyn was surprised that Stella nodded understanding. What a pleasure it was to be talking to an intelligent and educated woman. "He grew up in an all-male household. His mom left when he was just a kid. He did the sports thing, then he was in the army, then the police. He even did his undergrad and masters in Military History and PolySci--both really male-oriented subjects." She'd thrown in the last not because it was particularly relevant but because she didn't want Stella to think she'd married some dough-head. "Here's a snapshot." It took her a moment to negotiate briefcase, wallet, and photo, but finally she handed it to Stella with barely a glance. Stella admired it for a long moment, stroking her finger down one side.

"You still carry a picture of your ex around with you?"

Carolyn nodded guiltily. Stella placed the picture on the table. "Me, too." She returned her gaze to the picture. "Wow. He's quite the looker. Great cheekbones. And an MA, you say? Ray never finished his degree before going to the academy."

So they'd both been married to cops, then, Carolyn mused. Cops that turned out to be fags. It occurred to Carolyn that she'd been pouring out her heart and Stella hadn't revealed anything. For a moment she experienced conflicted feelings that she was being selfish hogging the floor, and that Stella was prying--getting into her head without giving anything in return. She made a mental note to turn the tables on Stella and get the goods on her ex. Just as soon as she was finished talking about herself, of course.

"So I know there were times," she continued, "when he turned to other men. For... comfort. For... release. You know, when there weren't any women around."

Stella nodded, although whether in acknowledgement or in understanding, Carolyn couldn't tell.

"But I got the impression it was always a stop-gap, just making do, you know. And short-term. Except for the two years in Peru where he lived with a Chopec Shaman. But that's not really relevant."

Stella's raised eyebrows indicated that she thought it was. Carolyn ignored the implicit comment. "Maybe I was fooling myself, but I thought they were just friends, Jim and Blair. I mean, I thought Jim was just doing this big-brother thing when Blair's apartment blew up and Jim took him in." Carolyn's own eyebrows now spoke volumes about her thoughts as they drew together in confusion. "Although I guess the fact that Sandburg still lives there five years later ought to have clued me in."

Again Stella's eyebrows travelled skyward to meet her hairline. Carolyn started to feel a little bit angry.

"Well, maybe everybody else saw it, but I didn't. Maybe I just didn't want to. They lived together, hung out together. They went on vacation together. I...." She hung her head, feeling ashamed and hurt, but not really angry--not with Stella anyway, but a little at Jim and a whole lot at Cassie.

Stella must have been a hell of an ASA, because she had a knack for saying just the right thing. Again she reached out and squeezed Carolyn's hand. "You have no idea how much I can relate. I had to have them practically screw on top of me for me to get a clue." Carolyn whipped her head around so fast the room spun around her. "And we're going to get that Cassie bitch. Oh, yeah. I can be really, really vindictive when someone hurts one of my friends." She nodded drunkenly.

"I'm your friend?" Carolyn asked, embarrassed at how much like a lonely little girl she sounded.

"Of course you are. I wouldn't tell my most intimate and embarrassing secret to just anyone, now, would I?"

And before Carolyn had a chance to tell her companion that she had not, in fact, revealed much of anything, the waiter delivered their dinner.

 

Despite the bowls of excellent angel-hair pasta the women had consumed, they felt no more sober than before, quite possibly from the continued consumption of alcohol with dinner. The waiter had recommended a full-bodied red Merlot, but Carolyn had decided white wine was preferable, and joined Stella in her beverage of choice. They'd split a carafe of the rather good house white, and by mutual unspoken agreement had left the topic of gay ex-spouses until they'd finished eating.

Instead, they'd talked a bit about their upbringings and discovered they'd gone to the same finishing school in Switzerland for their final year before college, Stella about four years after Carolyn. That shared experience went a long way to cementing their newly formed friendship, defining their social level and background instantly. And making Carolyn feel better about the age difference.

Pasta devoured, Stella asked, "How did you meet Jim?"

"Our families were members at the same golf and country club, so I'd seen him around over the years. We're close in age, so we must have attended some of the same functions and socials, but Cascade's a large city and he joined the army not long after high school, doing his post secondary education courtesy of Uncle Sam, although Lord knows his father could afford to put him through any school he wanted. I didn't really get to know him until he quit the military and leapfrogged from uniform to detective in record time. He worked in Vice most of the time we were together, which only added to the crap we had to deal with."

"Sounds like we've been leading parallel lives, except about the moneyed-background thing. Ray was the original bad boy, and I was attracted to him from the start. I've got a picture of him in my wallet, too." She retrieved her purse and extracted a small photo of an intense and attractive blonde man. She gazed at it fondly before handing it over to Carolyn.

Stella's eyes took on a dreamy quality; she gazed unseeingly over Carolyn's right shoulder, then snapped back with a start and a grin. "Despite the whole pissing in his pants thing," she added wickedly.

"Okay, girlfriend," Carolyn grinned back and did her best talk show guest imitation, which wasn't actually very good at all. "This I gotta hear." She placed the photo on the table next to the one of Jim she'd brought out earlier.

"I was a Gold Coast girl sent to dance class to learn poise and round out my education. He was sent there to expend some of his nervous energy and maybe learn some grace--he was always knocking things over. I think his parents may have had aspirations that he'd move up in the world. They were second generation themselves, and had internalized their own parents' desire to see their children have a better life than they had. When Ray quit college to go to the academy, his father stopped speaking to him, and only just forgave him in the last couple of years."

"And the pissing in his pants...." Carolyn prodded.

"We were only twelve, but he had this huge crush on me and tended to follow me around. And I kinda liked it--partly because it fed my ego, and partly because his lack of social standing pissed off my parents. So we were in a bank, there was a robber, I was grabbed as hostage. So Ray pissed himself, which distracted the robber and I got away. End of story."

"What do you mean 'end of story'?" Did anybody get hurt? Did the robber get away?"

"Yeah. I mean, eventually everybody got away. Nobody was hurt or anything. And the robber made off with the money. He was never caught, even though they had his name and he was a long-time felon."

"And you think this twelve-year-old boy orchestrated your escape? Under those circumstances?" Carolyn asked, incredulity edging her voice.

"That's the way I remember it," Stella said defensively. "Yes. I believe he did."

"Hmmm," was Carolyn's response. "So you and this bad boy. You have a thing for bad boys?"

"Maybe. I always seem to end up with them, even when they appear to be good guys. Maybe I should just try for a bad boy and he'll turn out to be a good guy in bad-boy clothing." Her butchered metaphor amused them both for a moment.

"Whatever." Carolyn's interest in this part of her companion's story was waning. "So who's Ray with now? Did he leave you for this guy or did he meet him later?" She remembered Stella asking her this earlier in their conversation.

"No. We split up over a lot of things. Children, career, the usual. It was only about a year later, though, that he ended up with the Mountie."

"I think, my dear," Carolyn said patronizingly, "that the term you want is 'bottom'." Living in San Francisco, Carolyn considered herself an expert on these things. "Although 'mountee' is certainly clear, too."

"No, you idiot." Stella looked horrified. "I mean an RCMP officer. I'm not privy to their sexual roles, despite having been almost in bed with them."

So intrigued by the latter comment, Carolyn was completely distracted from Stella's earlier slur. "You had a threesome?"

Stella looked ready to insult her again, but regrouped, collecting her wits and her patience.

"We'd been on again, off again since we were kids: breaking up and getting back together, moving out and moving back in, so even though the divorce was final we still got together from time to time...."

"Make-up sex. Jim was never so passionate as when I'd gone for good. There was this one night in the rain...."

"Right," Stella continued, glaring at Carolyn. "You get it. So almost a year had gone by, and we're still getting together once in a while, whenever one of us, or rather," she paused, looking determined to be honest, "or at least when I wanted to."

Maybe I should have been a shrink, Carolyn reflected briefly.

"So I was feeling really down one night. I'd lost an important case, and, I, well, I really don't like to lose." The women shared a knowing glance. "And this guy I'd been dating had decided to go back to his wife. So I thought, 'Ray. Go see Ray. He'll make you feel better'. He'd given me a key to his new apartment, so when he didn't answer my knock, I just let myself in."

"I guess he was on stakeout or something, 'cause it got late, and I'd had a few drinks while I was waiting. Instead of going home, I just went into the bedroom and made myself at home. It wasn't like it was the first time I'd stayed over in his ratty apartment." In response to Carolyn's questioning look, she elaborated: "It's easier to leave than to get someone else to." Carolyn admired the wisdom of this and made a mental note to remember it, then promptly forgot.

"I'm almost asleep when I hear the key in the door, then I hear someone walk in. More than one set of footsteps, I think. And I hear rustling and movement, and I think, shit. He's got someone with him. So I do the only thing I can do, and freeze, figuring I'll just pretend I'm asleep when and if they come in the bedroom."

"Then I hear the words I love to hear from Ray. He's a sweet talker. No, a dirty talker, but sweet, you know." She's drunk, thought Carolyn owlishly.

"I hear him saying stuff like 'I'm gonna make you come so good your teeth'll sweat,' and 'I'm gonna make you so hot your whole family's gonna come.' But then I realize the words are right, but the voice is wrong. I had had a few drinks, so I was a little slow on the uptake, but finally I realize it's not Ray at all, but that galling Mountie partner of his. I hated that guy on sight, from the first time I saw him working a case with Ray." Distaste coloured her voice.

"Now let me get this straight." Stella giggled. Carolyn ignored it. "Your husband's partner the Mountie is his police partner too? How is that?"

"Oh some crap about liaising with Canada or something. Even the Captain doesn't seem to understand. I think Fraser's boss just sends him over to the 2-7--that's the precinct--to get him out of her hair. She's a Mountie, too, and a real hardass. All career. You know the type."

"Yeah," Carolyn answered. "I hate those bitches." The two women shared a moment.

"So I figure Ray's lent his buddy the apartment; men do that sort of thing." She shivered delicately in disgust. "And he's got some slut up there. Probably that stupid Vecchio woman who's always after him. She gives push-up bras a bad name." Stella paused to see if Carolyn wanted a rundown on the new cast member, but Carolyn just waved her on. "I figure Ray's even given him pointers, or how else would he know Ray's best lines?"

"So now I'm rethinking my pretend-to-be sleeping strategy. For a minute I considered hiding in the closet until they were asleep or gone, but that fuckin' Mountie has ears like a bat and would probably hear my heartbeat."

Carolyn's breath caught in her throat. Heightened senses was not a road she wished to go down. She swallowed loudly, deeply relieved when Stella continued without noticing her discomfiture.

"Instead, I decided to go on the offensive. Something along the lines of 'What are you doing in my husband's apartment? I should call the cops.' Righteous indignation is a powerful tool in the right hands."

Carolyn nodded her agreement. She had used that tactic many a time herself in both career and relationships.

"So there's the sound of stumbling and fumbling, and eventually two bodies tumbling onto the bed, landing right on top of me. I scream, both in pain 'cause they're heavy and also because it was part of the new plan, right?"

"But they're surprised too, and being trained police officers, I'm completely subdued by Fraser even as Ray flips on the light and I see he's got his gun trained on me. Even the wolf got into the act, growling and jumping up on the bed."

"Don't tell me. The Mountie has a wolf? In Chicago?" Carolyn wondered for a moment if she was being had, but Stella looked so guileless she decided to keep listening with an open mind.

"Yeah. Mounties. Wolves. I never asked. Just assumed it was some Canadian thing. Anyway, Ray says something like, 'Uh, Stella. What're ya doin' here?'" Carolyn chuckled softly at the well-spoken Stella's switch to inner-city diction and pseudo-masculine pitch. Her friend really had married a lower-class bad boy, hadn't she?

"Fraser rolls off me and goes to stand beside Ray. Ray's shirt's half off and Fraser's naked from the waist up. Their jeans are unbuttoned, and Fraser's hair is actually messy. They look so ravaged, panting, sweaty, jeans pulled tight across enormous bulges at their crotches."

Carolyn took a long drink, asking suddenly, "Is it hot in here?"

Stella downed half her wine. "Yes. I think they've turned down the air conditioning in the last few minutes."

The waiter strolled over to clear their long-dead plates away and ask if they wanted another carafe of wine.

"Sparkling water for me, I think," Stella ordered.

"Cranberry and soda, thanks." Carolyn agreed they'd had far too much to drink--Stella's obviously feeling it, and Carolyn told herself she doesn't need the calories. "Go on."

Stella fanned herself for a moment. "Fraser says he thinks he should leave, but Ray reaches out and snags him by the belt loop, telling him no, he should stay, then asks me if I'm all right. I tell him I'm just bruised, but he meant more why was I here. There. In his apartment. I'm not sure what I answered, but once they'd ascertained I was okay, Fraser seemed to take that as permission to get all possessive, sliding his arm around Ray; leaning up against him like he was his territory or something. And Ray's oblivious, he just throws his own arm around Fraser's shoulders, and waits for me to explain."

"I don't know what to say. I can't go on either the offensive or the defensive. I'm just stunned. Ray keeps asking me if I'm all right. I get dressed and call a cab. Ray walks me down to the street and waits with me, but I can tell he really wants to be back upstairs with his... lover." Stella reaches for the fuzzy water the waiter has now delivered. "I guess I finally got it then. That my bad boy's not really a bad boy, and that he's got a life of his own. It's over. He's moved on." Carolyn was surprised to find Stella's gaze was steady, her eyes clear. It looked like Stella was also moving on.

 

Carolyn glanced at her watch for the thirtieth time. Surely Cassie's presentation would be over soon, she thought nervously, glancing guiltily around the room. She rubbed her throbbing temples, simultaneously promising never to drink again and counting the seconds to her next scotch. Stella shifted slightly in the chair beside her, turning to grin encouragingly at her friend.

Stella showed none of the trepidation that had been plaguing Carolyn about their alcohol-incited plan for revenge. And, Carolyn observed bitterly, the only sign of hangover was an extra layer of concealer that failed to completely mask the dark circles underscoring her pretty eyes.

"That skirt is so short I bet the first three rows can tell the day of the week from her panties," Stella remarked mean-spiritedly. Carolyn blushed, pleased that her new friend had once again found just the right bitchy thing to say.

Cassie's was the final presentation on forensics on this, the last day of the conference. She had spent--Carolyn glanced at her watch yet again--seventy-eight of her allotted ninety minutes talking about cases in which forensics had played a major part, except that by choosing to discuss only cases in which she'd been involved she'd made it sound like she'd solved the crime and saved the day in almost every instance.

Cassie certainly liked her technology, and not just for crime-solving. She'd developed a multi-media presentation that included slides, overheads, a PowerPoint presentation complete with a distracting number of special effects and dissolves, and at one point, an embedded sound file of a 911 call. Good thing she hadn't used an embedded video file as well, Carolyn thought.

Carolyn hadn't listened to much of the presentation; because it was her area of expertise, it was mostly old news to her. Stella had also been restless, most of the technical stuff going over her head, Carolyn surmised. When Cassie showed some rather graphic slides of the maggot life cycle as a means of ascertaining time of death, she'd patted Stella's knee comfortingly. Although the Assistant State's Attorney must have seen things like this before, she seemed a little naive at times. It brought out protective feelings in Carolyn that she hadn't known she was capable of. Nice, she'd mused as she turned her attention back to the rotting bodies portion of the presentation. Friendship is good. I can do friendship.

"And so, in closing, I leave you with a video clip of your forensic scientist at work." She smiled and gestured to herself as she glanced up to make sure the A/V tech had picked up her cue. The room lights, already muted for the LCD projector, dimmed still further as the video displayed on the twenty-foot screen behind her. "Remember," she said with false self-deprecation tossing her shoulder-length red curls, "I'm not a professional actor, of course."

At first, the audience was mostly silent, except for a few audible gasps of surprise. They must have assumed this was still part of the presentation: a new kind of forensic rape test, perhaps. Then Cassie turned at the podium to look at the screen and screeched, "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

The A/V person was slow to react, and the audience was treated to another endless twenty seconds of a woman sporting red curls splayed across the screen. Not shoulder-length by any means, these were short and curly pubic hairs, surrounding a swollen and scarlet vagina. Then to put all doubt from the minds of those who still believed this to be a forensic video, the film showed another woman making an outrageous plunge between the redhead's legs--any judge would have scored it a 9.9, had muff-diving been an Olympic sport. Finally the video was cut off, and the house lights came up. There were a few catcalls from some of the men in the audience, but one look at the humiliation on Cassie's face was enough to silence most of them.

"At least we know you're a real redhead!" came one last crack from the back of the room. Carolyn surveyed the audience quickly, but had no idea from whom the anonymous commentary had come. Still, it warmed her heart just a little. And then it didn't.

Carolyn experienced so many conflicting emotions, she wasn't sure what she felt. The conference facilitator had escorted Cassie off the stage with an arm around her shoulders, tears of humiliation flowing down her cheeks.

He returned to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Obviously there's been a mix-up with the tapes. We apologize for any embarrassment or offence this may have caused the audience or the presenters." He searched for something else to say, coming up with, "That concludes our conference."

"Going out on a high note," whispered the man on Carolyn's left. For an instant she panicked, fearing he knew she and Stella had been behind the switched tapes, then realized the entire room was abuzz with comments, snickers and high-pitched squeals of self-righteous disbelief.

She felt Stella rise and begin to head along their row at the back of the room toward the exits. She followed numbly.

"So," Stella whispered as they moved away from the crowd, "Is revenge sweet?"

Carolyn reviewed all the things she'd ever heard about Cassie Wells and the viciousness of yesterday's uncalled-for attack by the elevators, and admitted, "Sweet. Yes. And sour too. But I still don't get the 'best served cold' thing." Unless it referred to the cold sweat that was dribbling down her spine and pooling in the small of her back.

 

Seated at 'their' table, the two women conversed softly, one minute feeling buzzed about their vengeful triumph, the next feeling petty and malicious: a mixed celebration for certain.

Eventually they'd said all that could be said about their mission, and the conversation turned to dinner, as neither woman was catching a flight until the next morning. Carolyn was angling for Thai, Stella declaring she was in the mood for Italian. The negotiations were going nowhere.

"But I didn't order a drink," Stella told the waiter firmly as one appeared in front of her.

"Mr. Langoustini wants you to have this," he informed her, inclining his head toward the bar. An attractive, well-dressed man raised his martini toward her in salute. "And Mr. Langoustini always gets what he wants." The waiter began to move away.

"Oh, he does, does he?" Carolyn started indignantly. "Well, you can just tell your Mr. Lasagna over there--"

"Tell him thank you," interrupted Stella, a calming hand resting firmly on her companion's arm; her eyes never leaving the tall man at the bar. "Or, better yet, I'll tell him myself." She rose from the chair, but not before Carolyn grabbed her by the sleeve of her Simon Chang suit.

"Don't you know who that is?" hissed Carolyn urgently and angrily. "That's Armando Langoustini. 'The Bookman.' He's so high up in the mob they call him for permission to off someone."

"Is he?" Stella was busy trying to extract herself from Carolyn's claw-like grip, her gaze still locked with Langoustini's. He smiled at her encouragingly. He had a nice, warm smile, and agreeable, soft eyes... for a crime lord. "Well, I did say I was going to try for a real bad boy this time." She leaned down and kissed the stunned Carolyn on the cheek, whispering, "I'll call you. Soon." And with that she wrenched her arm free and headed to the bar.

And Carolyn was alone once more.

_End_


End file.
